


Der Blutende

by SuddenlySullen



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Will Graham, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexsomnia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25084354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuddenlySullen/pseuds/SuddenlySullen
Summary: "Call me Hannibal, please. We are friends, Will. If you are more comfortable with someone else, I do encourage you to find someone, but please do know that if you find yourself in need, I am more than capable of assisting."Now that he's looking for it the scent is unmistakably there. Hannibal can feel the slight flare of his nostrils as he picks up the traces of Will's pre-heat scent."I'll keep that in mind," Will says, pacing the edge of the room.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 315





	Der Blutende

"I won't be able to make our appointment next week," Will says, his voice low and tired. 

Hannibal tilts his head, but stays quiet in the hope that Will will elaborate. 

"It's, uh. That time of year." Will coughs, hiding his blushing face in his arm. He hopes beyond hope that Hannibal will just drop it and never mention it again. 

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, Will. We have come a long way over the years in terms of omega rights. You need not lock yourself away." Hannibal keeps talking to stop himself from scenting the air. He knows it will make Will uncomfortable and he has enough self control to stop himself from being obvious about it. 

Will shakes his head. "I have a - a thing. I have to find a new doctor."

"In case you were not aware, Will, I am a doctor," Hannibal smiles, hoping that Will takes the lighthearted statement to heart. 

"I wouldn't make you deal with this, Dr. Lecter." 

"Call me Hannibal, please. We are friends, Will. If you are more comfortable with someone else, I do encourage you to find someone, but please do know that if you find yourself in need, I am more than capable of assisting." 

Now that he's looking for it the scent is unmistakably there. Hannibal can feel the slight flare of his nostrils as he picks up the traces of Will's pre-heat scent. 

"I'll keep that in mind," Will says, pacing the edge of the room.

"That seems to be the last of our time for this evening. Please do call if you find yourself needing a physician, Will." 

Will lets himself steal a moment of scenting Hannibal when he's ushered out the door. Hannibal's scent is noticeably less oppressive than any other Alpha he's met and it makes him want to bury his nose under Hannibal's chin to get more of it. 

~~

"I might need to take you up on your offer," Will says, before Hannibal has even had time to properly greet him after picking up the phone. 

"Would you like to come to my office?" Hannibal smiles at the empty room. 

Will sighs on the other end of the line. "Yes. No. I don't know. I _can't._ " 

"If it would be more comfortable for you, Will, you are always welcome in my home," Hannibal tries to keep his voice gentle. 

There is a low growl from Will's end of the call. "I _want_ to."

"That's it, then. Dinner is at seven, I will see you then. My next patient is about to arrive, so I do need to let you go. Thank you for calling."

Hannibal clicks the receiver down before Will can protest anymore. Will grumbles low in his chest, not quite having the energy or the will to truly be upset about it. A part of him is relieved to have any further discussion about it taken out of his hands. 

He arrives at Hannibal's house, doing his best to ignore the uncomfortable wetness in his underwear. To Hannibal's credit, if he notices anything off about Will's scent when he answers the door, he chooses not to comment on it. 

"Right on time," Hannibal says as he's ushering Will inside. 

The scent around Will is so thick in the air that Hannibal can almost feel the way it coats the inside of his lungs. He wants to drown in it. 

"Would you like to discuss the issue you've been having over dinner or would you prefer to wait until after?" Hannibal sips his own wine and watches the way Will shifts his weight on the chair. 

"I think it's better if you know sooner." Will sighs, eyes firmly on his plate. "I don't make slick normally. There's something wrong with my glands or something. It's just … It's blood. Maybe not all blood, but it's mostly blood. I usually need a blood transfusion towards the end of it because it's just a lot." 

It isn't what Hannibal was expecting. It isn't even an issue he can say for sure that he's heard of before. He's fascinated by it. Saliva pools in his mouth at the thought and he's not sure he can put a name to the emotion that causes it. 

"If necessary, I am able to provide a blood transfusion," Hannibal says instead of all the other things he wants to say. 

Will's eyebrows pinch together, taking a moment to process what it is exactly he's just heard. "Is that something you can just Postmate?" 

Hannibal feels his smile all the way to his eyes at Will's tone. He knows for sure, then, that Will is planning to stay. "With enough connections and a little money, there is shockingly little that can't be delivered to one's home." 

"So it's… it's okay?" Will finally takes a bite of his food and relaxes into the chair. 

"Of course, Will. I have a guest bedroom, should you need to alleviate any of the other symptoms of your heat. I have some plastic sheeting we can put underneath the sheets to protect the mattress, but please do not worry about the sheets and blankets. They can be washed or replaced. Your comfort cannot." 

Will shudders mid-bite. He almost looks like he's considering fleeing, but instead takes a deep breath. 

"I don't know how to thank you," Will finally says. 

Hannibal reaches across the table to put a hand on his wrist. "No thanks necessary." 

They finish dinner in mostly silence. As the night goes on and he gets more wine into his system, Will finally seems to relax into his usual loose posture. 

"If you'll excuse me," Hannibal says after clearing their plates. "I'm going to prepare the guest room." 

With Hannibal out of the room, Will becomes painfully aware of the cramps starting to build in his gut. He whines, unable to stop the sound before it wrenches itself from his throat. The whole house smells so completely of _Hannibal_ and still, he finds himself missing the scent of the man himself being near. He treads carefully up the stairs, listening for which room Hannibal is in. 

Will finds Hannibal engaged in the process of putting new sheets on his guest bed. He steps into the room and tugs the opposite corner into place, stealing the opportunity to scent the air around Hannibal. The familiar scent calms his nerves at least slightly. If Hannibal notices what he's doing (and Will assumes he must notice), he doesn't comment. 

"If you will allow it, Will, I would like to perform an examination of your glands before your heat is truly underway. So that I may have a baseline in case anything should change." Hannibal's tone is clinical, doing his best to keep his own exhilaration from showing and Will isn't sure if his voice comforting or grating. 

He nods anyway. He knows there is slick pooling in his underwear already at the thought of Hannibal touching him there and the thought makes him blush deeply. 

"There is no need to be embarrassed," Hannibal assures him. In the next breath, he says: "Up on the bed and pants off, if you would." 

Will peels his slacks and boxers away quickly, grateful that his slick hasn't soaked through his boxers to stain his pants. The sheets that he hopes aren't silk, but doesn't ask about because he's pretty sure they're silk glide against his bare skin when he sits on the edge of the bed, sending shivers down his spine. 

"Can you put your feet up," Hannibal stops mid-sentence when Will does as he's asked. "That's it. Just a touch closer to the edge of the bed." 

The blush on Will's cheeks burns. He feels exposed. It's more intimate than the last time he had been in a medical office, being in Hannibal's guest room. With Hannibal's bare hands pushing gently at his thighs, spreading him wide. He doesn't expect the press of hard plastic at his entrance and it makes him tense. 

"Relax, please, Will," the rumble of Hannibal's voice soothes his heat-addled nerves even more than it might otherwise. "That's it," he praises when Will's muscles do relax.

The speculum slides in without pain or intrusive coldness and Will wonders if Hannibal actually warmed it. The feeling of it widening, stretching him open so that Hannibal can look inside of him, is almost overwhelming. He can feel the rush of slick, but the instinctual tensing of his muscles to keep it inside does nothing with the speculum keeping his hole gaping open for Hannibal's eyes. He whines in embarrassment when he feels the slick blood dripping out around the plastic. 

One of Hannibal's thumbs rubs around the rim of the speculum while he peers inside of Will. It takes all of Will's focus to keep from rocking his hips up to look for more contact. 

There is nothing visibly wrong with Will's glands. Hannibal is sure that nothing will feel wrong with them either. The knowledge does nothing to discourage him from wanting to touch. 

"With your consent, I would like to palpate the glands. Is that alright, Will?" Hannibal's voice is soft, not demanding. Will could say no if he wanted to and he knows that Hannibal would respect him. He doesn't want to. 

"Whatever you want," Will says and they both know that he means it. 

He gasps softly when the speculum stretches even farther. He's sure his hole must be gaping wider than any knot by now. Two of Hannibal's bare fingers make their way inside of him to rub against one of his slick glands. Will can't help the strangled moan that claws its way out of his throat or the way his fingers twist in the sheets from the effort of keeping still. 

When the fingers pull back, Will breathes deeply, trying to calm himself. He somehow forgets that there are two slick glands until Hannibal's fingers are pressing against the other one, feeling every bit of it. His cock leaks bloodied slick onto his stomach where it pools. Will almost misses the way that Hannibal's nostrils flare when his eyes flick up to the red smears on his stomach. 

It's equal parts relieving and terrifying when he realizes that Hannibal wants him on the same, bone-deep level that he wants Hannibal. It makes his chest ache, but he bites back the words he wants to say. He needs to know that it will be the same when his heat fades. 

Will nearly cries out when Hannibal pulls his hand away. The emptiness inside him feels like it might invert and swallow him whole without Hannibal's warmth. He isn't sure if it gets better or worse when the speculum is gone too, leaving him wet, loose, and still so empty. 

"Thank you," Hannibal says as he's standing up. Will watches the way the blood slides down his fingers over his wrist. 

He hopes, just a little, that it will stain. He wants to see the pink tint on Hannibal's skin and know that he's been marked. He wants Hannibal to be able to smell him in his own pores three days from now when the heat has passed and the slick is dried. He really hopes his thoughts are the result of his heat rapidly approaching. 

Through the wall in the bathroom, the water turns on and Hannibal lets it run while he stuffs his fingers into his mouth. The copper taste of blood is unmistakable, along with the heady, musky taste that is all Will. He rinses his hands, but doesn't use soap. He hopes he'll be able to smell Will on himself still after he's gone. 

Will stays with his thighs spread wide, taking deep, desperate breaths to try and pull himself together. He wonders if all of his symptoms are worse than normal Omegas. He can't imagine having to work in his current state. 

"My own bedroom is down the hall. Second door on your right," Hannibal tells Will from the doorway. It's as close to asking Will to join him in it as he'll allow himself to get. "Please don't hesitate to find me if you need anything."

"Thank you again," Will says, sitting up to meet Hannibal's eyes. 

"It is no hardship to have you in my home, Will," Hannibal smiles softly. "It has felt oppressively quiet here as of late. Your presence fills some of the emptiness," he adds, with more honesty than he means to. 

"Next time I'll bring the dogs," Will teases. "There's no quiet with seven dogs."

Hannibal wants to continue their soft banter, but can only muster a gentle laugh and a "Sleep well, Will." His mind is too focused on the fact that Will said 'next time'. 

Once the door has closed behind Hannibal, Will finds himself turning his face into the sheets to hold onto the scent of him. He squeezes his legs together, trying to ignore the insistent throbbing inside of him. He floats like that - too uncomfortable to really sleep, but too exhausted to be fully awake. When his eyes are open, the walls around him seem to ripple and fold in. When they're closed, he feels like he's falling. 

Hannibal wakes early and hears the sound of Will tossing and turning on the sheets as he pads down to the kitchen. The scent of Will's heat lingers just out of reach throughout the house. It comes in teasing bursts that leave Hannibal turning his head to see if Will has just walked into the room. 

When Will eventually claws his way out of bed, he's not surprised by the deep red circles of blood in places where he'd laid for too long. His face burns hot with embarrassment as he tugs the sheets off and leaves them in a heap on the floor before remembering that he doesn't know where Hannibal keeps his spares. He wipes the inside of his thighs with a wet cloth that's colder than he'd like and changes clothes in the bathroom, deciding halfway through putting a pair of pants on that it isn't worth doing. He follows the echo of Hannibal's scent down the stairs to the kitchen and feels his muscles finally start to relax when he's surrounded by it. 

Hannibal turns and smiles when Will walks in the room. The scent in the air finally stays and coats his lungs with every breath he takes. 

"I've made protein scramble for brunch - the coffee is on," Hannibal nods towards the pot and realizes that Will is wearing only a t-shirt and boxers. He forgets the rest of what he was going to say and watches Will turn away. He can see the light pink stains on the inside of Will's thighs where the blood didn't quite wash away completely. His mouth waters, reminding him of the taste. 

"You're an angel," Will says sleepily as he's pouring his coffee. He hates how much better it tastes than the coffee he buys because he knows he's going to miss it when he leaves. 

The plate appears on the counter in front of Will moments later. He finally looks up to meet Hannibal's eyes and finds them darkened so red that they almost look back. Slick leaks into his underwear and he looks away, but he can't help but think that maybe Hannibal could be affected by his heat. 

"How are you feeling this morning?" Hannibal asks gently, without prodding. 

Will swallows down the bite in his mouth before answering. "Didn't sleep that well. So the same as always, I guess." 

"Your nightmares? Would like to talk about them?" Hannibal sips at his own coffee and watches Will's mouth work over his food. 

"Not nightmares," Will answers. "Didn't quite get far enough to sleep for those." 

"I am sorry to hear it," Hannibal says and it's genuine. He doesn't like the idea of Will being uncomfortable in any context, but in the current circumstance he finds it particularly offensive. "If there is anything I can do for you, Will, please don't hesitate to ask." 

"Can I - Where do you keep spare sheets?" Will's face heats thinking about the bloodstains on the other ones. 

Hannibal smiles. "I would be more than happy to help you change them after breakfast." 

Will nods, not trusting his voice. He finishes his brunch in uncomfortable quiet, shifting on his feet. Hannibal moves casually around the kitchen, preparing things for the meal he intends to cook for dinner. He takes the opportunity to scent the air around Will, letting himself indulge in it. When he passes behind Will, he can see the slight red patch growing on the back of his boxers. Afterwards, he chops the celery with just a little more force and does his best to ignore the feeling in his chest that tries to pull him closer to Will. 

"I should shower," Will says quietly. His voice is low and the exhaustion seeps into it. 

Hannibal gives a slight tip of his head. "There are towels in the bathroom linen closet if you like." 

It's harder than Will expects to drag himself away from the kitchen counter. He turns and looks back at Hannibal every few steps until the wall finally blocks him from view. Some part of him, the part that's still just a little bit feral, wishes Hannibal would be a little less civilized and just follow him. 

Hannibal watches Will disappear around the corner, then clutches at the countertop. He takes several deep breaths to try and reign himself in, angered by his own lack of control. 

The warm water from the shower distracts Will from the cramping that has started in his gut. The soap smells like what Hannibal uses, so Will washes with a liberal amount of it to give himself a poor approximation of Hannibal's scent to keep him company. He leans under the spray and watches the thick red fluid swirl around the drain. His mind helpfully reminds him of being a child and getting soft serve ice cream cones with strawberry syrup swirled around it. The thought disgusts him a lot less than he thinks it probably should. When an especially painful cramp tears through him, Will is forced to grab at the side of the shower and lower himself to sit down. The hot shower beats down on his stomach, soothing away the ache, and he closes his eyes to let himself float in the white noise and gentle caress. For just a moment, he imagines that it's Hannibal's hands moving so gentle and strong over his rioting muscles. 

Hannibal starts to worry about Will when the shower is still running more than half an hour after it first turned on. He knocks gently before opening the door. It isn't locked and he catches himself feeling just the slightest bit pleased by that. 

"Will?" He calls into the bathroom, the sound of his voice echoing back at him from the tile. 

He steps further into the bathroom and pulls back the shower curtain. He's shocked into stillness at the sight of Will laid bare in the bathtub. He's twisted to one side so that his head rests against the side of the bathtub. Both hands rest over the center of his chest, almost as if he were covering his heart. Blood moves in a gentle stream from between Will's legs to the drain. 

"Will," Hannibal says again and puts a hand on Will's shoulder. 

Will's eyes open, bleary and confused. He blinks up at Hannibal. 

"You seem to have fallen asleep in the shower," Hannibal tells him as he's turning the faucet off. 

The air is cold against Will's heated skin. He curls in on himself against it. Hannibal doesn't offer him the towel. Will is thankful for it. If it were offered, he might feel obligated to take it. Instead, Hannibal dries Will himself. The touch isn't enough. The barrier of the towel between them frustrates all of Will's senses. Hannibal's scent surrounds him so thoroughly he can feel it, but his touch is masked. It makes Will's jaw twitch with the buried instinct to bite into his Alpha. 

"I think you may be dehydrated," Hannibal says as he's helping Will stand up. "I'd like to give you some intravenous fluids." 

"Sure thing, doctor," Will murmurs. 

Hannibal leaves for a few minutes and comes back with fresh sheets for the bed. He puts them on quickly, then ushers Will to lie down. His hand lingers just a moment too long against Will's forehead, feeling for a fever at first, then simply indulging in the touch. 

"I'll be right back with fluids," Hannibal assures him as he's leaving. 

Will thinks he might have fallen asleep again because he blinks and Hannibal is sitting on the bed next to where he's laying. He curls unconsciously around Hannibal's hips, just close enough to feel his heat without touching. His eyes meet Hannibal's as he offers his arm for the IV. The needle slides into Will's vein easily. He almost doesn't realize it's done until Hannibal is taping it down to the back of his hand. 

"You're good at that," Will says with a low purr. 

Hannibal's chest warms. "I'm glad to see I haven't lost my touch." 

There is a pause, then Hannibal walks to the closet and pulls a wire hanger from it. He flips it upside down and uses the hook to attach to the fluid bag, then hangs it over one of the posts of the headboard. 

"And smart too," Will laughs under his breath. 

Hannibal pets Will's forehead with one hand as he's turning back to attach the bag to the tube in his hand. Will's eyes drift closed when he feels the cold work its way into his veins and tastes the sweet chemical aftertaste of saline in the back of his throat. 

"Relax and sleep," Hannibal says softly. "I will wake you for dinner."

Will nods and his eyelids force themselves shut before Hannibal has even walked away from the bed. Hannibal knows he should answer his emails. He should finish the book he's been reading. He should do anything other than walk to his study and retrieve his sketchpad. Instead, he sits down on the floor next to the closet and starts to sketch Will as he looked in the shower. He draws from his memory of a particular painting, using his current view of Will to ensure that his detail work is accurate. 

From slight, barely-there wrinkles on the edges of Will's eyes to the mottled scarring on his shoulder from an old wound, Hannibal commits Will's image to paper. He pays close attention to the hard lines of muscle in Will's calves, carving them into his work. Working on the shading in the veins of his arms reminds Hannibal to look up at the bag of fluids. Seeing it empty, he unhooks it, but leaves the wire hanger in place, expecting that Will might be in need of it again. He hopes, selfishly, that there will be no need for a transfusion of blood if he can intervene with fluids enough. 

Will dreams of a great, black wolf chasing him through various cities and landscapes. He runs until his lungs burn and his legs give out before the wolf catches him, pressing its teeth just barely around the back of his neck. He realizes that he has no clothes on. He's in heat and needs a knot, any knot. It holds him in place, denying him any relief. He feels like he's burning up, melting from the inside out. The wolf holds him, though, and refuses his cries. When he tries to push his neck further into its teeth, it pulls away and denies him yet again. In the end, he rocks his hips into the hard ground, scraping himself on rocks and twigs until tears stream down his face. He wakes with a gasp, damp with sweat and leaking slick. The scent of blood is heavy in the air. 

"Hannibal," he gasps, reaching out for where Hannibal was sitting when he fell asleep. "Please." 

Hannibal is across the room immediately, letting Will grip his wrist until he's sure it will bruise. He pushes Will's sweaty bangs back with the other hand so that he can look into half-lidded eyes. 

"Are you hurt?" Hannibal asks. 

Will shakes his head. "Dreams."

"Would you like to talk about them?" The hand in Will's hair pets the rest of the way through it. 

"There was a wolf." Will leans into the touch "It chased me until I couldn't run anymore and then it didn't do anything it just held me in one place." 

Hannibal keeps his hand moving in gentle strokes through Will's hair. "What did you want it to do?" 

"Anything," Will groans. "It wanted me so bad and then when it had me there was nothing." 

It occurs to Hannibal that, were Will in his right mind, he might connect that his subconscious is placing Hannibal as the wolf in his dreams. He's grateful that the connection isn't made, though, and tries to think of ways to 'have him' that Will would find acceptable when he's awake. 

"What did you do?" Hannibal asks. 

Will blushes deep red and drops his eyes from Hannibal's. The grip on his wrist loosens. He tries to think of anything to tell Hannibal other than the truth that won't be a lie. 

"Cried, mostly," he finally answers. 

Hannibal nods, letting Will have his slight dishonesty. He can gather what else happened from the look on Will's face. 

"Rutted against the ground a bit," Will adds when Hannibal doesn't respond, almost too quiet for Hannibal to hear.

"Would like to talk more about that?" Hannibal asks with a slight tip of his head. 

Will shrugs awkwardly where he's laying down. "I don't think there's much to say. It's pretty obvious why I would be having dreams like that, right?" 

"Your heat, you mean?" Hannibal's hand stills on the side of Will's head. 

"What else would I mean?" Will's eyebrows pinch together.

Hannibal pauses before answering. "Perhaps you are feeling trapped, or like there is something missing from your life that you would like to be given but do not have the power to take." 

"Because I'm a childless Omega pushing forty you mean?" Will bites out. He's glaring at Hannibal now, but doesn't do anything to move the hand away from his hair or pull his own hand away from where it still rests on Hannibal's wrist. 

"I will admit that I was thinking more about your work," Hannibal says and watches the way that Will immediately softens. "You are the only one who can do what you do, so you feel bound to the work at great personal cost."

"If I didn't do it, people would die," Will says quietly. 

"Perhaps," Hannibal agrees. "But people die every day."

"That's not as comforting as you think it is," Will tells him.

Hannibal smiles. "I only mean that people will always die. We are fragile creatures."

"But if I can stop even one person from dying then it's worth whatever toll it might take on me." Will finally admits, to himself as much as to Hannibal.

"Not to me it isn't." Hannibal answers firmly. 

They sit in silence for a long while after that. Will isn't sure how to answer the revelation that he matters to Hannibal. Hannibal enjoys whatever time he's going to be allowed to bask in Will's scent, being allowed to touch him so freely. 

"Were you still here?" Will finally asks. "When I woke up, you were right there." 

Hannibal considers lying, but ultimately answers: "I was struck with artistic inspiration and was sketching." He gestures to the abandoned sketch pad and pencil on the carpet. 

"Show me sometime?" Will's eyes are bright and ringed with gold. 

"Anything you like," Hannibal answers and knows that he means it more than Will probably comprehends. "I should go finish dinner," he adds after a moment. "You're welcome to join me in the kitchen." 

"Do I have to get dressed?" Will asks and does his best not to sound pouty. 

Hannibal smiles. "I'll make an exception this once." 

Will stands, heading into the bathroom to pee and clean up some of the slick coating his thighs. He tries not to think about the fact that Hannibal had definitely been able to smell him the entire time they'd been talking. After, he follows the scent of Hannibal down to the kitchen wearing only a towel. 

Every train of thought in Hannibal's mind comes to a screeching halt when Will walks into his kitchen in nothing but a towel. His mouth waters at the fresh wave of Will's sweetened heat scent filling his lungs. 

"What can I do?" Will asks. 

"You can select a wine for the evening." Hannibal says, nodding towards the pantry. 

"What are we having," Will looks over his shoulder as he's walking into the spacious room of wine racks. 

"I had thought you might appreciate a fish. Salmon au poivre, to be exact." The smile on Hannibal's face stretches to his eyes. 

"Au poivre is just a fancy way to say 'peppered salmon', isn't it?" Will laughs when Hannibal's jaw drops open just slightly. "Did you forget I'm from Louisiana, cher?" He teases, letting his voice slip into a more southern drawl. 

"It seems, as always, that my usual charm is lost on you." Hannibal finally says. 

"I find you plenty charming," Will answers and sets down his wine choice for the evening on the counter. "Just not for the usual reasons, I think." 

"The usual reasons being?" Hannibal asks with genuine curiosity.

Will smiles, letting his shoulders relax. "People think you're charming because you're an eccentric European with sophisticated European tastes giving us just a glimpse into your fancy world."

Hannibal nods along. Will isn't wrong and he knows better than to try and tell him otherwise. 

"I think you're charming because you're trying very hard to be charming. It's endearing to see you fumble a little when it doesn't work because I'm three poorly socialized raccoons in an overcoat."

They both can't keep from laughing at Will's description of himself. Hannibal opens the bottle of wine and pours them each a glass, offering a toast. 

"To failed attempts at being charming," he says. 

"To being charmed anyway," Will answers. 

Hannibal sips lightly at his glass, appreciating the way that Will selected a sweeter wine to pair with the pepper of the fish. Will downs his whole glass because he realizes that he's just admitted that he finds Hannibal charming. Part of him knows that the alcohol might very well fray at the last strands of his self-control and send him begging for Hannibal's knot as soon as dinner is over. Another part of him desperately wants to do just that even while he's sober, if only he could turn off his brain long enough to allow it. The wine seems a fair compromise. 

When Hannibal motions for Will to follow him into the dining room, something clicks in Will's head. He sits down at the table and realizes that he is actually about to eat dinner with Hannibal Lecter completely naked except for a bath towel. He can feel (and knows that Hannibal can see) the blush that spreads all the way down his chest. 

"Bon appetit," Hannibal says with a smile. 

They eat quietly. Will shifts uncomfortably in his chair throughout the meal any time he's reminded that he is, in fact, still naked. He's not sure what possessed him to think that it would be a good idea. If he lives to tell the story of it, he'll say that it was the heat hormones raging through his brain, but he's pretty sure that's a lie based on how much he's enjoying the way that Hannibal's eyes keep straying to the hair on his chest. Will isn't sure how many glasses of wine he drinks, but he knows it's significantly more than Hannibal. 

They clear their plates together, mostly because Will refuses to hand his over to let Hannibal do it and Hannibal doesn't want to break the fragile quiet between them. Will stands just on the edge of too close to Hannibal, close enough that he can feel the change in the air every time Hannibal's arms move while he's washing the dishes. The quiet is finally upset by the sound of Will yawning into the crook of his elbow. 

"You should rest," Hannibal tells him. "Your body is working hard." 

Will groans, feeling the beginnings of cramps deep in his belly. "Come with me?" 

"I'm sorry," Hannibal says and leans in to kiss Will's forehead. "You've had quite a bit to drink and are in heat. I think I have to send you to bed." 

A low growl builds in Will's chest, but he trudges off to the guest room just the same. His eyes start to spring tears almost as soon as he lands face down in the pillow. He refuses to even touch himself to take the edge off of his heat. Instead he sniffles into the pillow and embraces the agony of it, hoping that Hannibal can hear his suffering through the wall. 

Hannibal doesn't hear Will as much as he smells the hints of distress coming from his room. He retreats to his mind palace as he's falling asleep and finds that there is nowhere in it untouched by Will. The walls bear unmistakable bloody handprints and his scent lingers in every room. In his dreams, Hannibal roams the halls searching, but can't find Will anywhere. 

Sometime in the darkest hours of night, Hannibal is roused from his dreams by the very real and physical presence of Will in his bedroom. He blinks awake with Will on top of him, blankets cast aside at some point before he woke. 

"Alpha," Will whines, shoving impatiently and uncoordinated at Hannibal's nightclothes. 

Hannibal puts a hand on Will's wrist to stop him. "You aren't in your right mind," he says in a groggy voice. 

Will snarls, yanking his hand away and pressing down on Hannibal's chest. With the other, he roughly shoves Hannibal's pants down just far enough for his cock to be visible. He grinds his own slick hole over the quickly hardening length of Hannibal's cock. Hannibal grasps at Will's hips, trying to keep him still. 

"Will," Hannibal pleads. "You don't want this." 

The only reply from Will is low growling. One of Hannibal's hands pulls at the wrist of the hand pinning him down. This time when he pulls it away, Will brings it down to rest against Hannibal's throat. If he tried, Hannibal is sure that he could overpower Will. He considers doing it before a car passes outside, lighting the room for a brief flash, and he realizes that Will's eyes are closed and his eyelids are fluttering rapidly. His face is slack with sleep, even as he's pinning Hannibal to his own bed by the throat. It's the most honest Hannibal thinks he's ever seen Will. 

Hannibal pushes against the hand on his throat until Will snarls again and squeezes tightly. The pressure doesn't let up until Hannibal is starting to see spots in his vision. For a moment he almost thinks he's going to lose consciousness. Then Will's hand is gone and fumbling to guide Hannibal's cock into the dripping heat of his hole. A low groan makes its way out of Hannibal's throat when Will sinks fully onto his length. Will's hand returns to his throat then pushes higher up the side of his face. Hannibal can feel and smell the bloody slick coating Will's hand. He knows without looking that his throat and face are covered in it. The scent has his head spinning. 

When Will leans forward, Hannibal almost thinks he might be waking. Instead of speaking, though, his teeth sink deep into every bit of Hannibal that he can reach. He knows that when the sun comes up, he'll have perfect imprints of Will's teeth dotting his chest, shoulders, and neck. Based on the deep ache, he thinks he may have a bruise on the shape of Will's hand around his throat. His hips roll up into Will involuntarily at the thought. He lets his hands once again rest on Will's hips, this time only holding gently. 

Will growls and rakes his nails down the length of Hannibal's forearms. The sting accompanies the rest of the symphony of pain that Will has given him perfectly. The growl devolves into a long, needy sound that is more of a wail than a moan. Hannibal feels the wet splatter of Will's release on his stomach. He resists the urge to taste it. He resists the urge to do anything but take what Will wants to give him, if only because he wants to see the tableau that Will is making of him when it's finished. 

The press of Hannibal's knot comes all at once, slipping inside of Will's sleeping body with little resistance. Will's hand, still sticky with his own drying slick, grips one side of his neck, forcing his head back with a hard thumb under his chin. Hannibal chokes on his own moans, arching into the hand on his neck while his orgasm overtakes him. When his eyes flutter shut, he feels Will lean forward over him and expects loose limbs and a sated, sleeping body. Instead, there are sharp teeth biting deep into the side of his neck. Deep enough that they will certainly scar and high enough to not be hidden by a shirt collar. Will starts coughing eventually, pulling away from Hannibal's neck. When he tries to pull away and yelps, Hannibal realizes that he's woken up. 

"Will?" Hannibal asks and is shocked by the barely-there sound of his voice. 

"What the fu-ngh," Will is cut off by his own yelp when he shifts on Hannibal's knot. 

"Let me," Hannibal swallows, realizing the pain in his voice. "Light," he finishes simply. 

Hannibal reaches for the bedside table and turns on the lamp, shutting his eyes against the immediate brightness. He feels a few stray tears make their way down his cheeks. Will gasps sharply at the sight of his creation. 

"Oh god, I- I am so fucking sorry, Hannibal. You need to call the police," Will says and twists again, making both himself and Hannibal hiss in pain. 

Hannibal puts both hands on Will's hips and shakes his head. "No," he rasps. 

"What do you mean, 'No'? I ra-" Will swallows thickly. "I raped you." 

"No," Hannibal repeats and shakes his head. 

Wrapping one arm around Will's back to brace them, Hannibal sits up slightly so that he can take long gulps of water from the glass on the nightstand. 

"I could have stopped you," Hannibal says, in a strained voice that is still a near whisper. 

Will's fingers tentatively move over the abstract placements of bite marks, scratches, and forming bruises on Hannibal's body. The gold in his eyes is dimming, but seems to sparkle when his fingers touch near the deepest of the bite marks on Hannibal's neck. 

"Mating bites were common until very recently in human history. Plenty still wear them." Hannibal tries to reassure Will. 

Will growls, but there is no bite in it. It's more of a pained whine. "I can see it," he finally says. 

"Tell me," Hannibal begs. 

"I'm upset. Feeling rejected. I go to the guest room and refuse to touch myself out of spite. I want you to smell how unsatisfied I am." Will bites his lip and looks down at Hannibal for a sign to keep going. Hannibal nods slightly. "I fall asleep hurt and unsettled. I don't sleep well anyway. I dream about marking you. About what it would be like being an Alpha and being allowed to be possessive. I dream about just taking what I want so desperately. You fight back so I hold you down. I put you in your place because you're mine. I mark you so that everyone else will know." He looks down again at Hannibal's body. "This _is_ my design."

"Beautiful," Hannibal breathes. 

Will chokes. "Don't - You can't say that."

"It's true," Hannibal reassures him. "Look what you've made."

"Why did you let me?" Will asks. "You can't have wanted… this." 

"Let it never be said that I would not suffer for art," Hannibal smiles, trying to lighten the mood. The words still ache in his throat and his voice rasps, but Will seems to be relaxing. 

His knot finally goes down enough to slide free from Will before Will can argue more. They both pause, frozen in indecision, before Hannibal sits up again to take another drink of water. 

"Would you care to shower with me?" Hannibal asks. "Assess the damage for yourself if you must." 

"You shouldn't want to be anywhere near me," Will says, but he's getting up and stretching a hand out to help Hannibal up. 

"You haven't broken me," Hannibal teases. He takes Will's hand anyway and laces their fingers to lead Will into the master bathroom. 

Under the stream of the water, Will finally gets to see Hannibal. His nails bite into his palms to resist reaching out to touch, afraid he's already taken too much. He rakes his eyes over the soft curves of Hannibal's belly and hips. Blood covers his entire pelvis, leaving it stained pink even after the water starts to rinse away most of the dried slick. The deep bite and scratch marks stand out sharply against Hannibal's pale skin, making guilt twist in Will's stomach. His guilt intensifies when he realizes that his body is responding with desperate heat to the sight of Hannibal so destroyed. 

"It's alright," Hannibal says, tipping his dripping hair forward. 

Hannibal can see the turmoil in Will's eyes as they dart quickly over his body. He reaches out and grabs one of Will's hands, pulling it to him to touch the marks Will left. Will's breath audibly hitches in his throat, but he doesn't pull away when Hannibal releases his hand. His fingertips trail lightly over the various marks, now cleaned of dried blood and starting to clot. He steps forward into the stream of water and also into Hannibal's space, breathing deeply in the crook of his neck. A long whine escapes his throat at the realization that their scents are beginning to mix. 

"May I?" Hannibal asks. 

Will isn't sure what he means, but nods anyway because he'll let Hannibal do anything to him right now. Hannibal's hand comes up to cup the back of his neck before pulling him into a deep kiss. Will stays frozen in shock for a beat before grabbing onto Hannibal's hips and opening his mouth in a high moan. Hannibal takes the opportunity to explore Will's mouth with his tongue, enjoying the soft rumbling purr that builds in Will's chest. When Hannibal draws back just slightly, Will presses forward so that their chest are touching and nuzzles into the crook of Hannibal's neck. 

"How do we come back from this?" Will finally asks. He pulls back to look up at Hannibal, but can't bring himself to let go. 

Hannibal only smiles. "We don't." 

He leans forward and kisses Will's cheeks, just under his eyes. Will whimpers and clings tighter to him. Hannibal leaves open-mouthed kisses down the side of Will's face and neck, enjoying the way that Will writhes against him. 

"I'd like to take you back to bed," Hannibal says in a low voice, his mouth still pressed against Will's shoulder. 

Will nods, not trusting his voice. The water turns off and Hannibal pulls Will against him while they walk backwards into his bedroom. He doesn't stop for a towel or to change the bloodied sheets on his bed. He simply lays down and tugs Will on top of him until his head is framed by Will's thighs. He groans desperately when he first presses his tongue to Will's loosened hole. The taste of himself mixed with Will's blood and slick is enough to get high on. Will's hands grip the headboard while his throat makes desperate, needy noises. 

When Will starts to pull away, Hannibal bites down hard on the inside of one of his thighs. Blood blossoms in his mouth and from Will's cock when it leaks against his stomach. 

"Your knot," Will pants. "Please, Hannibal." 

Hannibal releases him and Will rolls to the side, getting into position on his hands and knees. Hannibal kisses Will's shoulder as he sinks all the way inside of him. 

"I could have stopped you," He confesses in Will's ear when he's fully sheathed inside of him. "I could have, but I wanted to witness the destruction your body was willing to bring upon mine if only that glorious brain of yours would stop fighting itself." 

Will's gasp twists into a moan. Hannibal kisses his temple, then shoves him down with a hand between his shoulder blades. It reminds Will of his dream with the wolf until Hannibal starts slamming into him at a brutal pace. He loses himself in it, biting at the sheets until he thinks they might have torn. At the sound of it, Hannibal curls over his back. He crosses an arm in front of Will's mouth and Will takes the offering, sinking his teeth into it. His thrusts are shorter, but with just as much force, and Will can feel the way his knot is already catching. When it finally fully inflates and doesn't pull out, Will feels the gentle twitch of Hannibal filling him with cum. He purrs - loud. They collapse to one side and Will dislodges his teeth from Hannibal's forearm only to lap at the bleeding teeth marks he's left. 

Hannibal nuzzles into the back of Will's neck, inhaling their mixed scents. His free hand trails down Will's side and between his legs, giving his cock a few lazy strokes to draw a last long moan and the tiniest bit of bloody slick from him. 

After his knot goes down for the second time, Hannibal prays that Will is satisfied for the evening. He knows that, at his age, a third knot is not likely to surface. It seems, though, that Will is on the same wavelength. His eyelids droop halfway closed and he hardly responds beyond soft purrs when Hannibal lifts him from the bed to the bathtub. He slides in behind Will and washes them both quickly before Will falls asleep completely. He dries them this time, then convinces Will to walk to the guest room rather than be carried. The sheets on his own bed will wait until morning. They tangle into a mess of limbs and Will doesn't stop purring until long after they've both fallen asleep. 

The sound of Will's phone blaring angrily from the nightstand wakes Hannibal first. When he looks at the clock he sees that it's barely past seven - later than he might usually sleep, but far too early for phone calls. He growls and considers answering it, but doesn't get the chance before Will picks it up himself without even opening his eyes. 

"What is it?" Will asks. 

Hannibal can hear the sound of Jack's voice on the other end, but can't make out the words. He tries to stifle his growl and eavesdrop better by burying his face in the side of Will's neck. 

"...need you to come look." He catches Jack saying. 

Will sighs. "You know I can't." 

"We'll clear out the locals. Just you." Jack's tone is annoyed and not all that comforting. 

With his eyes still closed, Will squeezes Hannibal's side. Hannibal nods into his neck, reasonably sure what it is that he's being asked. 

"I'm bringing Doctor Lecter with me," Will says firmly. 

Jack sounds irritated, but doesn't say so. They hang up and Will finally opens his eyes to look at Hannibal. 

"Sorry I kinda volunteered you for this. There's a body on Kent Island." Will says apologetically. 

"There are few places I would not follow you," Hannibal replies gently. "Shall I brew some coffee and let you shower in peace?" 

Will grumbles. "I think so. Jack wants us there before tonight. Thank you for doing this." 

"It is my pleasure," Hannibal presses a kiss to Will's forehead, then peels himself out of the bed to go start coffee. 

They make it to the island before noon. As Jack promised, the scene itself is clear of local police. The surrounding area, however, is not clear of police and journalists, including Freddie Lounds. She hones in on Will immediately, only to have Hannibal step between them to allow Will to duck under the caution tape. 

"Not today, if you could be so kind, Ms Lounds," Hannibal says politely. 

Freddie narrows her eyes at him. "What happened to your neck, Doctor Lecter?" 

Hannibal only replies with a wink as he follows Will deeper into the crime scene. He's sure he'll get to read about her speculation about their relationship on her website later. He knows better than to disturb Will, but places a gentle hand on his lower back to let him know that he's there anyway. 

"You're looking for someone who knew him," Will finally says. "They asked him to come out here with them for something. This was revenge for something the victims did, but I'm not sure what. I can't tell you much more than that."

"Thanks," Jack says. "Thanks for coming out. Any thoughts, Doctor Lecter?" 

Hannibal looks up from inhaling Will's scent. "I would start with people not in his immediate circle, but perhaps someone who used to be incredibly close to him and isn't anymore." 

Jack nods. "Alright, you two can get out of here. Appreciate the help, Doctor." 

The hand on Will's back stays as they weave their way through the growing crowd of people. Neither bothers to answer any of the questions posted by any of the people shoving microphones in their faces. Will only stops for a moment when he hears the sound of Freddie Lounds' voice. 

"Does the department know about your personal relationship with Doctor Lecter?" Her voice grates on Will's ears. 

Hannibal guides him into the car before he can snap at her and say something he might regret. 

"Thank you for that," he says as they're driving away. 

They arrive back at Hannibal's house with just enough time for Hannibal to prepare dinner. Neither of them is paying enough attention to notice that Will has gone paler than usual during the drive. Will barely has time to call Hannibal's name before he collapses onto the kitchen floor. He comes to seconds later with his head in Hannibal's lap. 

"Wha-" Will starts to ask. 

"We seem to have neglected your health in favor of your job," Hannibal says with annoyance clear in his tone. 

"'m sorry," the words slur together slightly when Will speaks. 

Hannibal pets his forehead. "No need. Can you stand?" 

Will tries to with Hannibal's help, but finds it hard to summon the strength. He shakes his head and Hannibal helps him up with both hands under his armpits. They only make it as far as the couch in the study, but that's far enough for Hannibal. He fetches a bag of saline from his kitchen and returns with supplies to set up another IV. 

"I worry for your health," he tells Will as the needle slides in. 

"That makes one of us," Will tries to lighten the mood. 

Hannibal sets the IV bag on one of the shelves on his bookcase and adjusts the drip to flow a bit faster than he might otherwise because he's feeling somewhat responsible for Will's current state. He props the door open so that Will can see into the kitchen. It brings a gentle smile to Will's face when Hannibal loses the jacket and vest so that he can roll his sleeves up. The bite mark on his forearm is angry and red, visible even across both rooms. Will's cheeks heat at the memory of it. 

Will thinks he falls asleep because the next thing he knows, Hannibal is swapping out the empty bag for a new one and petting his forehead. His eyes drift closed again almost as soon as the touch leaves. 

While the roast is in the oven, Hannibal takes the time to change the sheets on both beds and retrieve his sketchbook from the floor of the guest room. He finishes the sketch with enough time to read the latest Tattlecrime headlines. The sound of the oven timer has him getting up in the middle of her latest article, mostly consisting of speculation about the state of his and Will's relationship. He takes a last moment to appreciate the image she chose for it - himself holding the car door open, only the top of Will's head visible. The bite mark above his collar stands out and he thinks she might have edited it a bit, but won't begrudge her that. It looks divine. 

Will joins him in the kitchen as he's slicing the roast, his eyes still tired. "Can you?" He asks, holding up the empty saline bag. 

"Ah, yes of course," Hannibal says. He rinses his hands quickly so that he can remove the IV from Will's hand. 

"Thanks," Will yawns. 

Hannibal smiles. "I feel I should warn you that Ms Lounds has taken to relationship gossip."

"I'm sorry," Will looks down at his feet. "I should have known better."

"Do not apologize," Hannibal says firmly, digging the knife into the roast just a bit harder. "I only share so that you aren't surprised if you receive questions." 

"I'm not sure how to answer any of those questions," Will admits. "Is 'fuck off' an answer?" 

"Language," Hannibal scolds him, but is still smiling. "How do you want to answer them?" 

"We can't just pretend this never happened." Will says. "I- Fuck, I gave you a  _ mating bite. _ " 

Hannibal reaches up to touch the tender skin, appreciating the soreness of it. "I have no desire to pretend this never happened," he admits. 

They take their plates to the dining room. Will can't help the soft moan that the taste of the roast pulls from his throat. 

"What is this?" He asks. 

"Wild boar," Hannibal answers. "I have an old friend who likes to hunt and knows of my appreciation for rare proteins."

"Maybe we date." Will says, then adds: "I don't want to date because we feel forced into this. Do we feel forced into this?" 

"I assure you, Will, a man in my position rarely finds himself forced to do anything." 

Will finds it more reassuring than he expects. He can still see the scabbed bite marks on Hannibal's neck and forearm. The heat in his stomach feels different, though. 

"I think my heat is passing," he tells Hannibal. 

Hannibal nods. "Your scent has shifted. Do you find yourself suddenly repulsed?" 

Will laughs bitterly. "Only by the things I did to you." 

"Please, Will. Do not regret that." When Hannibal looks up his eyes are deep red. "I have admitted already that I could have put a stop to it." 

"I don't understand," Will starts, but trails off when he takes a bite of food. 

"I enjoy wearing your marks. Perhaps more than is necessarily healthy. Call me old fashioned," Hannibal explains. "I long for a time when mates proudly displayed their bites and our more base instincts were embraced rather than hidden away." 

"You like me feral," Will simplifies. 

"I like you feral," Hannibal agrees with a smile. 

Will looks down at his lap. "I guess it's lucky for us, then, that we found each other." 

"Lucky indeed," Hannibal nods. 

They clear the table together. Hannibal washes the dishes while Will dries them and puts them away. It's an easy rhythm for them to fall into. Afterwards, Will follows Hannibal into the study and sees the sketch pad out. 

"Will you show me?" He asks. "Whatever it was you were working on." 

Hannibal picks the sketch pad up and hands it over. He watches the way that Will's eyes widen when he realizes what he's looking at. 

"Hannibal, this is gorgeous," he breathes. 

"I will admit that it is a recreation, inspired by Max Oppenheimer. I can show you the original sometime if you like." 

Will shakes his head. "I think I like yours better." 

~~

The next crime scene that Will finds himself called to, he insists that Hannibal be consulted. It's a Ripper scene, he knows that much for sure. Something about it feels familiar in a way that he can't place, though. 

The woman is posed on top of a sheet, propped upright against a tree. A man's head is in front of her, her hand braced over his mouth. The entire scene gives Will an uncanny sense of deja vu. 

When Hannibal arrives, he greets Will with a chaste kiss to the cheek, pulling him from his thoughts. 

"I've seen this before," Will tells him. 

Hannibal nods. "It bears a striking resemblance to one of Max Oppenheimer's other works. I believe we looked at it together after I introduced you to Der Blutende." Hannibal finally looks up and takes in the scene. He appreciates the chance to see it in full light. 

Will notices Hannibal's intense focus on the scene. He thinks Hannibal almost looks proud. Before he can think too hard about why, his train of thought is interrupted. One of the local police is throwing up into a bush directly on top of what they can only assume is the rest of the decapitated man's body. Will growls about incompetence under his breath as he steps back under the police line. 

That night before crawling into Hannibal's bed, while Hannibal is brushing his teeth, Will takes another look at the sketchpad. He flips past the drawing of himself to more recent ones. The one on the page immediately after his portrait is another of himself. In it, he sits atop Hannibal's face, head thrown back. There is a look of unhinged ecstasy on his face. Hannibal's face is smeared with blood, as are the surrounding sheets. It hits Will that this image looks even more like the scene they visited than the painting Hannibal referenced. 

"Ironic, isn't it?" Hannibal's voice interrupts his snooping. 

"Is it?" Will asks. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this reads as kind of a mess. I've been in a weird place mentally and I think it might have bled through into this a little.


End file.
